Page 83 of Bittersweet Revenge
“The first time I killed someone, I was fourteen,” he says softly as I massage his scalp. I’m afraid to breathe, afraid to open my mouth and not be able to hold my truth in. “I think about it sometimes…have nightmares. I wasn’t ready when I did it. It’s easier now. I’m better at turning off my emotions, but it still makes me feel empty.”
My mind goes back to the night with Michael Jensen, how disconnected he’d looked…but then he’d given himself to me, let me inside him, let me fuck him and bring him back to earth again. That’s what we give each other. Maybe it’s wrong, but it’s ours. “You do what you have to do, and if you feel like there’s nothing left inside you, I’ll fill you up with me. The only real reason there’s a me is because of you.” So I can give him that, give him everything.
“What do you mean?”
“That emptiness you feel after? That was me all the time, but not anymore.”
“Not anymore,” Tiernan says softly. “You draw me…all the time.” He leans down and rubs his cheek against mine, his hair hanging down and tickling my face. “You would kill my father for me, consequences be damned. You would give me all of you.”
“Yes.”Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him who you are.
But he said if I went after his dad, he would have to kill me. Nothing will change. Tiernan will take my life. Shouldn’t I enjoy us while I can?
“Tell me about you.” He drops more of his weight against me, lying on my torso, his head against my chest. It’s…so fucking intimate, so intense in its simplicity. I wish we could stay right here forever and never leave.
Every warning signal is going off inside me to shut my mouth, to keep my truth close to my chest, but I want him to know me. Want to give Tiernan as much of me as I can.
“My father was murdered.” It’s almost impossible to get the words out as I try not to choke on my anger. I lift my arm, run my fingers tentatively through his hair. Funny how I can fuck him, let him fuck me, bite him and suck him, but this, just…letting the soft strands of his hair fall through my fingers, is scary as fuck.
“What happened?”
I play with the words in my head, trying to figure out the best way to set them free so that I’m lying as little as possible. “He was trying to protect my mother and me. He loved us so fucking much. I was young, but I remember. And she told me stories almost every day for all my life.”
“I’m sorry,” Tiernan says as I continue to pet him. I’m grounded by it somehow, like my fingers in his hair keeps me tethered to the earth.
“Me too. I told Aislin it was a car accident. I don’t like to talk about it. You say your mom is depressed…my mom spent most of her life that way too. She missed him, felt guilty for what happened, had an irrational fear that something would happen to me. She was incredibly overprotective because of it. I didn’t have a life really, at all, but I didn’t care. I had computers, art, and books. Plus, I hate people.”
“You don’t hate me.”
“I used to,” I tease.
Tiernan chuckles before sobering. “What happened to her?”
“Stroke.” The word gets tripped up in my throat. “She was young, but I think she was just fucking tired. It took her quickly. One day she was there, the next she wasn’t. And I was alone.”
Tiernan leans up so he can look at me. “Not anymore. Now you’re mine.”
He takes my mouth with his, and I let him. I pour every part of me into the kiss, try to fill him with me that way I’m filled with him, determined to enjoy this and to make Tiernan happy for however long this lasts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tiernan
My eyes jerkopen the second my phone rings. It’s on vibrate for everyone except my father so I always know when it’s him.
Dean stiffens beside me, familiar with the sound, knowing exactly who it is.
After last night, he must understand more, must get why talking to my father puts me in a bad mood and why so much of what we say in our calls is secret.
I still can’t believe what I admitted to him last night, the things I shared and how it felt to listen to him talk about his parents. I wish I could find out who killed his father so I could make them suffer. I’m not sure there’s a battle I wouldn’t fight for him, nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I hate it and love it at the same time. I crave him in a way that can’t be healthy, but all I want is more, more, more.
My phone keeps ringing.
“Ignore it,” he says.
“I can’t.” I sit on the edge of the bed, back to Dean, and answer the call. “Hello.”
“I want you in Boston today.”
